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My hair is matted, as if swept by a tornado in the night,

My sleepy eyes squint through the bright morning sun,

I desperately grasp the motivation to place my bare feet against the taunting wooden slats

 

I feel the cold air prickle my exposed skin,

Once again, the weight of the world sinks down upon my shoulders,

As if Atlas has gone in search of a new career,

 

In frustration I rip through piles of clothing,

With lost confidence, I lace up my high-tops, 

Blissfully unaware of the homework that still rests mockingly on my kitchen counter,

 

My vision blinded to the early morning sunrise,

I tentatively lean my head against the icy bus window, 

The cerulean floor caked with salt and muddy grime,

I cringe as the cold air pierces my skull,

 

School flits past in a series of illusions,

A whirlwind of prose, equations, lyrics and procedures

Bokeh scenes and faded numbers float about my head,

But only for a moment before disappearing into the ether of my mind,

Where they will gather layer upon layer of dust,

 

I plunge into the Siberian air once more, 

Shutting my eyes and holding my breath, 

As if submerging myself into the frigid, murky waters of Superior

 

Stinging cheeks, watering eyes, stiff fingers

 

I can finally feel my salvation,

Freedom ringing in my ears, Exhaling determination with every cloudy breath

My feet fall heavy against the rigid concrete, 

Sharp pain shooting up my leg with every step,

 

Continue on

 

Salty sweat rolling down my temple, 

Gasping, hungry for the surrounding air,

 

This is me,

 

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This poem is about: 
Me
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